Too Much
by triseke
Summary: Its an AU! Garda(Cop) Dean Winchester has been in Ireland for 3 years. He loves it. Everyday it's different. One day, after pulling the most boring duty, Front Desk, he meets Social Worker!Castiel. Bear with me here, I had to move it to Ireland, it's the only place I know enough about procedures!
1. Chapter 1

It was 8.50 a.m. when Dean poured himself a cup of terrible coffee from the ancient coffee machine that hasn't been cleaned since Dean started here. Every morning he convinced himself he will never drink the stuff again, but then he starts to get a headache, and Dean wonders if there is some sort of narcotic in it that keeps him coming back for more. He grimaced as the rancid coffee burned his tongue, and made his way from the break room to the office. He found his name on the big whiteboard to see what he is rostered in for this morning. Front Desk. Dean groaned inwardly. He hated this job. Even though he only gets it for 1 day every 6 weeks, he still can't help but feel slightly put out. It also meant, sudden realisation dawning on Dean, that he wouldn't be able to finish the report that had kept him here until 10 p.m. last night. Every cloud having a silver lining and whatnot.

He scanned the board until he found who else got landed with Front Desk duty today. He grinned as he saw Oliver Whelan's name allocated. He and Olly nearly always ended up working together, and Dean liked Olly. Olly was a bear of a man, and just a few years older than Dean. Olly always managed to look threatening, even though he wouldn't hurt a fly. He sort of reminded Dean of Sam in a way. A big, lumbering giant that could go from gentle soul to warrior beast in a heartbeat. Today was definitely looking up.

Dean wandered up to the Front Desk, and chanced a glance through the glass reception. A small queue already. He stopped before opening the door, and gave himself a quick once over in the mirror hanging on the door, to inspect his uniform. Blue shirt, navy tie straightened, and he could forgo the stab proof vest at the moment. He wouldn't need it thanks to the heavy glass protecting him and the reception from the waiting area. The July morning was warm, thankfully, and so he had left his jacket stowed in his locker.

"Morning, Winchester." came a familiar voice from behind him.

"Morning, Olly. You and me again. Let's hope today won't be as eventful as last time." said Dean, meeting Olly's eyes in the mirror.

Olly laughed. "You're just saying that because that guy vomited on your shoes."

Dean's face darkened. "Thanks for reminding me."

"Oh, don't be so sour," Olly grinned, the epitome of a person who enjoys being up early. "We're finished at 6 today."

"True," Dean said, taking another sip of coffee, and pulled a face. "Jesus, that is awful."

"That's because you're American." Olly said, simply, opening the door to Reception.

"That doesn't even make sense, you asshole."

"Never said it had to."

Dean rolled his eyes, and followed Olly in. He turned on the computer closest to the window, leaving Olly to man the phones behind him. He knew they would switch in a hour or two, because as much as Dean disliked the Front Desk roster, he hated manning the phones.

His fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard, as he logged himself on. He flipped open the visitors book in front of him, pulled the shutters open, and pressed a little button that said "Number 00, please go to reception."

Dean had been in Ireland 3 years, and been a member of the Garda Siochana for just over a year. It was different from his last job, Sheriff's deputy in some small no name county in Montana, and he wanted something a little bit different. On a whim he had ended up here, in Dublin, in one of the busiest stations in the country, but he loved it. The job was challenging and constantly changing. His work team were a great bunch of people, and for once in his life he felt like he was actually making a difference by going to work in the morning. However, today was not one of those days.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I can't sign the form unless both you and your partner are here to witness it." Dean began.

"Ma'am?! How old do you think I am?" said the young woman standing on the other side of the glass, cradling a toddler on her hip. "Just sign the fucking form, would ya? I'm going away next week."

"As I have already said, I need the child's father here as well. It won't take two minutes but both of you need to be here." Dean met the woman's eyes, knowing that she would back down. He could always tell who was going to be a challenge and who was just letting off some steam.

"Fine." said the woman, deflated. "I'll call back later."

"No problem." said Dean, making a quick note on the computer as the woman turned and left. He threw a quick look at his watch, and sighed. 9.45. It seemed like an age since he started. He reluctantly pressed the button again. "Number 10, please go to reception."

"Good morning. What can I do for you today?" said Dean, distractedly as he fixed some of the papers on the desk, not looking up.

"I have an appointment with Sergeant Lucy Walters at 10 a.m. Could you please let her know that I have arrived?" came the response.

American accent. That's new.

Dean flicked his eyes upwards to meet the gaze of the man in front of him. Definitely American. Not one of Dean's usual customers. This guy certainly wasn't here to get a form stamped or to sign a couple of documents to prove he had been in the station. No, this guy was here on business. Dean noticed an office ID peaking out from underneath the collar of the man's shirt. Business casual. The man's incredibly blue eyes seemed tired. Bag. Mobile phone in hand, and a constant vibe of "I am far too busy to deal with any of this." One of two people. Social worker or Probation officer.

"Sure." said Dean, "What's your name?"

"Castiel Novak."

Dean quirked an eyebrow. The man gave a small smile, and replied "I know, I get that a lot."

"I'll just need you to sign in, here." said Dean, pushing the ledger towards Castiel. "Can you also put in your reason for being here. I'll call over to let Lucy know you're here. You can take a seat when you're done. Lucy won't be long, especially if she is expecting you."

Castiel took the proffered pen, and signed his name in small, even handwriting. Even upside Dean gave himself an internal pat on the back when he saw "Social Worker" being printed in the column next to Castiel's signature. He watched Castiel turn and take a seat close to the door as he waited for Lucy to answer the phone.

"Sergeant's phone."

"Luce, there's a social worker here for you."

"Which one?" came the short reply. Dean got the feeling Lucy was not too happy about this meeting.

"I don't know. I've not met him before. He's new."

"Oh, Jesus. That's all I need. Look, I'll send one of the lads over to pick him up. We're in building 2 today."

Dean winced. Building 2 was the oldest building on the station ground and was where the Child Protection Unit held most of their interviews. Dean didn't envy Lucy or her team for doing their jobs. "Great. I'll tell him you'll be a few minutes."

"Thanks, Dean."

"No problem. You still on for lunch?"

Lucy sighed. "Doubtful. I have Court at 11."

"Sucks to be you."

"Piss off."

"Bye, Lucy." Dean replaced the handset, and leaned over to the window. "Mr. Novak, Sergeant Walters will be over to fetch you momentarily."

Castiel smiled at Dean. "Thank you."

Dean sat back down behind his computer, absentmindedly tapping out the notes required after each visitor. He could also see Castiel from this vantage point. He watched Castiel frown at the battered, old, mobile phone in his hand and then bring it up to his ear, listening to what Dean assumed was a voicemail. Castiel's frown deepened as he reached into his bag, withdrawing pen and paper, and hurriedly began to write. Dean heard him make a disapproving noise as he hung up the phone. Dean also couldn't help but hear the conversation that followed.

"Hi Helen, it's Cas."

_Silence._

"I just recieved the message. How is she going to get the service now, if we don't pay for it?"

_Silence._

"I know. I know that. But -" Cas snapped his mouth shut, his face darkening, silent for a moment.

"I have to return to the Judge and tell him that so." He finished evenly.

_Silence._

"Yes. Thank you anyway Helen." Cas clicked the phone off, and exhaled quietly.

"Rough day?" Dean asked, popping his head up from behind the computer. The queue had been seen to prior to Castiel's arrival. Now it was just him in the waiting area.

Castiel seemed slightly startled. "You could say that, and it's not even lunch time yet."

"That bad?"

Castiel quirked his mouth upwards into what could have been smile, Dean wasn't sure. "Worse."

"How long have you been here?" said Dean, changing the subject. Smooth, he told himself.

Dean watched Castiel cock his head to side, thinking. "About a month?" came the response, "You?"

"3 years. I love it though." Dean grinned.

"I guess it kind of grows on you." said Castiel, returning Dean's grin with that upward quirk.

Suddenly, a third voice entered the conversation. "Mr. Novak?" Lucy's messenger. An unfamiliar face, Dean didn't recognise the officer. "Can you please come with me, Mr. Novak? The Sergeant is waiting."

Castiel stood, shoving the errant papers back into his bag neatly. "Thanks." he said, nodding at Dean. Dean threw him a little wave as he watched him retreat out of the room, adjusting his bag, and putting his phone to his ear again.

Dean shook his head. Social workers, man. What a job.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of Dean's day passed in a blur of phone calls and disgusting coffee. By the time 6 p.m. rolled around, he's tired and just wants to go home. He hesitated about changing out of his uniform, thinking about just heading straight home, when he remembered that the Superintendent doesn't like them to leave work in their blues. He sighed and headed for the locker room.

"Pints?" said Olly, as Dean approached his locker.

"You always want pints." said Dean, shaking his head.

"Not always, and I'm shocked that you would make such an insinuation." Olly held up his hands in mock horror.

"Not tonight Olly. I'm bone tired. Need to head home. My brother's going to call me tonight and I don't want to fall asleep again. He takes pictures." Dean smiled at the memory, and then realised he owed Sam an ass kicking for that one.

"Ah yes, the infamous Sam Winchester." said Olly, pulling a hoodie on over his head. "When is he coming to visit? I want to meet the guy."

Dean paused, thinking. "I think he wants to come over with Jess at Christmas. I haven't seen them since Thanksgiving last year."

"You mean that fake holiday you guys have at the end of November?"

"I swear, I will beat your ass, Whelan."

"Hey, I'm up for anything that involves turkey and getting drunk. It's like two Christmases!" Olly grinned.

Dean grinned, he knew Olly didn't mean it. It was one of the first things Dean found the most different about Ireland. People that liked you, your friends, co-workers, tended to insult you, the most they liked you. Kind of like a perverse playground effect. It had taken some getting used to, but now, Dean enjoyed it.

"Still. I'm heading home." Dean had gotten dressed back into his civilian gear. "See your lazy ass tomorrow."

"Fuck you too, Dean." Olly said, laughing as Dean flipped him off, as he left the room.

40 minutes later and Dean was opening the door to his apartment. He kicked his shoes off, threw the keys onto the small table beside the door and made his way to the fridge. His apartment was small, barely enough room to contain everything it needed to. The place had the feeling of being just a little too crowded, even though Dean did not have a lot of possessions. He had pretty much left everything back in Bobby's in South Dakota, all packed up in boxes. He had taken a few of the important items with him. His laptop, the battered hip flask from Bobby, his mother's wedding ring, but mostly Dean had taken the pictures. He had them plastered all over the walls. Framed and not framed. Sam smiling up at the camera when he was 12 years old as he attempted to do Math homework on a rickety motel table. Ellen and Jo grinning at him from behind the bar, Ellen's hand resting gently around Jo's shoulder. HIs mother and father standing with their arms around Dean as a child, in front of their house. Bobby making a move towards the camera, all grumpy because Dean had taken the picture suddenly. Kevin's graduation. Charlie on Christmas morning from 6 years ago. Sam and Jess waving happily at the camera. Their wedding day. Dean leaning on his beloved Impala. And possibly Dean's favourite picture was one he only received a few weeks ago. It had pride of place on above the fake fireplace, and Dean had made a copy for his wallet too. It was a picture of Sam holding something small and wrinkled up to the camera. Dean's nephew, Hunter, was just shy of two months old, and Dean had yet to meet the kid in person. He hoped he would be able to see him tonight when Sam finally got round to Skyping him. He flicked the laptop open, signed in, and went about making himself some dinner. He knew Sam wouldn't be home for another few hours, but even knowing that put Dean in a great mood.

Several hours later, Dean has had his dinner, and a beer, and was watching the latest episode of "Game of Thrones", knowing that Charlie would be onto him about it in the next day or so. She loved to dissect what was happening, and where it was going, with Dean. They usually chose a show at a time to dissect. This had been Charlie's. Dean's choice was next. "American Horror Story" sounded good. The familiar ringing sound of the Skype app rang through the room. Dean reached over and placed the laptop on his knees.

"Hey Sam."

"Dean! Hey!" His brother looked happy to see Dean, if not a little tired.

"How are you, Sam? It's good to see you."

"I'm good. Good to see you too, man."

Dean shifted in his seat. "How's Jess and my nephew?"

Sam chuckled. "Jess is good. I think she's looking forward to going back to work though. She's going a little loopy being here all day with just an infant for company. Hunter is good too. Still not sleeping all night though. Makes getting up for work an absolute bitch."

Dean grinned. "Can I see him?"

"Sure." Sam left the little screen on Dean's laptop, and suddenly reappeared with a small bundle.

"He's still awesome."

"Yeah, he is." said Sam quietly, looking down at the baby enfolded in his arms.

"What's up?" asked Dean, concerned.

"Nothing."

"Sam."

"Nothing. I said, it's fine."

"Sam, I know you're "holy crap I'm freaked the fuck out but I'm telling you I'm fine" look. You always were a terrible liar. Tell me."

"Dean, it's fine."

"I will get Jess." Dean said, threateningly.

Sam sighed. "It's just.." he began hesitantly. "What if I mess this up?" he gestured at his sleeping son. "What I do a "John Winchester" on him? I couldn't.."

Dean sat up straighter. "Sam Winchester. You listen here to me right now. Dad did his best. Sure, it was a nightmare at times, but look at you. You're the product of that. You have a blueprint of what not to do to be a good dad."

"And I have you."

"What?"

"Come on Dean, you did more for me that Dad ever did."

"Sam, that's…" The words stuck in Dean's throat. He was uncomfortable with this conversation, knowing where it was going, but he knew Sam needed to hear it, needed Dean to ok with this. Even still, Dean wanted the conversation to steer away from this topic. Thankfully his nephew provided such a distraction.

There was silence for a few moments. Then Hunter shifted, and started to cry a little. Sam shushed him softly.

"I have to go, Dean."

"I know."

"I miss you. We miss you."

"I know. Miss you guys too." This was always the worst part, the goodbye. When Dean had to leave his brother again, and slip back into his life that was so far away from Sam. Dean missed his brother like he would miss a limb. They were all they had left now. Each other. And their little makeshift family. Jess and Hunter, Charlie, Kevin. That was all Dean had left now. He always felt so very far away after talking to them on Skype, or after being on the phone. Dean wondered about his decision to uproot his life, but then the memories of why he left came back like a tidal wave, and he knew that he had made the right decision, however hard it was for him.

"I'll see you guys soon." he finished.

"Yeah. Be careful, ok?" said Sam, his face creased in concern.

"I will, brother. You take care of that kid until I meet him and then I can be the best bad influence in the world."

Sam rolled his eyes. "See you." and the screen flickered to black.

Dean stood up, and finished his beer. 11.40 p.m. He thought about sending Charlie his thoughts on Game of Thrones, but he suddenly felt very tired, and his bed began to call to him. He'd send how much of dick he thought Joffrey was, to Charlie tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks passed by, wholly unremarkable in their tedium. Dean joked in the breakroom that even crime took a summer vacation. The only calls that he had been on the last fortnight related to children tormenting each other and loud parties at night time. Dean considered himself lucky though. Different colleagues in different departments were not as relaxed. Lucy, for instance. The level of work that Lucy and her team did almost doubled during the summer. The 6 or 7 gardai that worked under Lucy constantly seemed to be busy. Today was no exception.

"Dean speaking."

"Oh thank God, Dean." came Lucy's breathless voice.

"What's wrong, Luce?" Dean frowned.

"Do you have the Chambers file? I need it, I'm about to go to meeting with the HSE and I can't find it. I thought I had it, but I think you borrowed it and now I'm not sure if I have it or you have it." She spoke quickly, her words tripping off her tongue.

"Calm down. I have it. I'll drop it over to you?"

"Dean, you are a goddamn hero." Dean could hear Lucy exhale over the phone.

"It has the updated version of my report too. You want the historic file as well?" Dean absentmindedly played with the tangles in the phone cord.

"Please. I'm not sure what they need so all of it would be helpful."

"No problem. I'll drop it over to you asap."

"Thanks Dean." Lucy hung up the phone.

Dean rifled through the papers on his desk until he found the current file. Small file. Only about 6 pages. He turned, and dug around in the cabinet behind him, until he located the historic file. Much bigger. At least 60 pages. Dating back 15 years. Dean scooped both files up and began to make his way towards the Child Protection Unit, stopping to pick up a cup of putrid coffee for Lucy.

Dean thumbed through the newer file as he walked. Karen Chambers. Mother of 5. Ongoing neglect. Drug and alcohol abuse. Dean's stomach dropped a little, reading over it. He saw his signature on the bottom of the latest incident. He and Olly had responded to a child found wandering the main thoroughfare at 2 a.m. He was no more than 5 years old. They had eventually found where he had come from, and that incident had been the beginning of

whatever shitstorm Lucy and her team were dealing with at the moment. Dean was so absorbed in re-reading the incident report that he walked straight into something as he rounded the corner to Lucy's office. In his surprise, Dean dropped the files and the coffee.

"Shit." He dropped to knees, rescuing years of work from the rapidly expanding hot puddle of coffee.

"I apologise. I didn't see you. Let me help."

Dean flicked his gaze upwards and landed upon a sort of familiar face.

"Thanks. No need to apologise. I wasn't watching where I was going." Dean smiled at the man, whose mouth quirked upwards. Dean's brain misfired, as he fought to remember where he had seen this man before. He gave the man the quick once over. Black hair, messy. Tired blue eyes. Black suit, white shirt, black tie. American accent. Bingo. Social worker from HSE.

"I'm Dean Winchester." Dean straightened up and held out his hand.

"Castiel Novak." Castiel replied, and shook his hand. Good handshake.

"Thanks for helping." Dean gestured to the pile of papers he held loosely.

"The papers were easily rectified, the coffee however, is a little more difficult."

Dean snorted. "It's awful coffee anyway. Don't worry about it."

Castiel smiled again, and then his phone rang. The same battered old phone trilled in his hand. He examined the number, frowning slightly, and then clicked it off.

"Good news then?" Dean asked.

"I wish. I'll deal with it after my meeting here."

"With Lucy?"

Castiel nodded. "I assume those are the files?"

"Yeah," Dean looked sheepish, "Sorry they aren't in order."

"Hardly your fault." Castiel fixed his gaze on Dean. Dean felt a sudden rush of embarrassment settle into his stomach. Castiel's eyes were too blue. Dean thought that if Castiel had asked, he probably would have told him anything at the moment. His face was utterly sincere. Dean shuddered inwardly. All social workers had a way of getting answers from people. He figured this was Castiel's. Him and those goddamn blue eyes. Dean cleared his throat.

"Um.. Lucy's probably waiting. I should get these to her."

"I'll walk with you. This building is like a warren, and I don't wish to get lost." Castiel fell in step with Dean.

They walked in silence for a few more moments until they reached Lucy's office door. Dean knocked lightly and entered, followed by Castiel.

"Hi Lucy. Here's the files, and the social worker." Dean grinned. depositing the files on Lucy's desk. "The files may have been dropped on the way

over, but it's all there."

Lucy sighed. "Thank you Dean. Nice to see you again, Castiel. You ready?"

Castiel nodded his assent. "As I'll ever be."

"I'll leave you guys to it." Dean said, backing out of the room.

"Thanks Dean!" came Lucy's voice.

"Nice meeting you, Mr. Winchester." said Castiel, as he turned his attention back to Lucy.


	4. Chapter 4

Two weeks later, Dean was having lunch at his desk when Ollie passed him at speed, throwing his jacket on.

"Let's move, man. Issue over at the social work offices."

Dean took a massive bite out of the pathetic excuse for a sandwich that he had bought that morning in a gas station, swallowing thickly and grabbing his keys. A call like this would mean something was up, something serious if the social workers couldn't handle it themselves. Sometimes it was angry parents, sometimes it was crazed people and sometimes it was just a complete psycho. Dean had only been called to an incident like this once before, and it was just an angry dad threatening to smash up the reception.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean was adjusting his cap and pushing his way through the glass doors of the social work offices. There was a couple of people waiting at the reception, each with an expression of complete indifference. The receptionist, however, was a little old lady and sat ensconced in a glass cage behind the gigantic reception desk. The phone was cradled under her chin as she spoke quickly into it, a stray grey curl covering her eye. A man stood beside her, looking tense and gazing down at a small television, a bunch of keys hanging loosely at his hip. As Dean approached him, he snapped his attention to him, and with a visible sigh of relief came out to meet him.

"Eddie." said Ollie, shaking the man's hand, "What's going on?"

The man nodded at Dean, and beckoned the two officers towards the fire stairs. "I'll explain on the way. Come on." Eddie began to climb the stairs, two steps at a time, the officers following behind him.

"They were interviewing the chap of the Riordans', and he suddenly just snapped. He clocked Sharon in the face, and started beating on the new guy. And then, well, just look." Eddie stopped short in front of a non-descript door. Silence from inside. He looked pointedly at Dean, and then to the door handle. Dean pressed down on the handle, feeling the lock resist him. He knocked. No answer.

"Who's inside?" he asked, frowning at Eddie.

"Sharon, but she was unconscious when I saw her on the monitor, and the American guy with the strange name, Castiel."

Dean glanced back at Ollie, who had moved Eddie back a couple of feet, and now was standing, baton at the ready. He nodded.

"Castiel? It's Dean Winchester. The cop. You ok in there?" Dean was leaning on the door now. No answer.

"That's it. I'm going in." Dean took a step back, and in one swift movement, brought all his weight down on the door. It swung open easily.

Inside, Dean saw Castiel, now sporting a bloody lip, his tie almost completely undone, and shirt collar covered in blood. He was standing over a man, who was wailing underneath the window, his arms drawn up over his face, and his feet tucked underneath him. He seemed to be begging Castiel for something, he would reach out and tug at Cas' suit trousers every so often. Castiel seemed to be murmuring something to the man, who nodded periodically. Dean cast his eyes around the room, and saw the other social worker lying on the floor, her head on a suit jacket, still out cold.

"Castiel, you ok?" Dean crossed the room swiftly, as Ollie went to Sharon.

"I am fine, Dean. A little blood never hurt anyone." Castiel touched his bleeding lip, his fingers coming away bloody.

"More than a little blood, man. Your shirt is covered in it." Dean said, pointing at the bright red stain on Castiel's chest. "You sure you're ok? The paramedics will be here in a moment. Have them check you out."

"I am more concerned about Sharon, and Mr. Riordan." Castiel bent down, his eyes trained on the wreck of a man under the window ledge. "It's ok, Don. We can work past this, ok? You are going to have to go with the police now, and we will have to follow procedure, but we can work past this." Castiel reached out and placed his hand on the shaking man's knee. Don nodded, gulping in huge gasps of air. Castiel stood abruptly, turned and left the room. Dean wasn't far behind.

"Hey, man, wait up. Cas! Slow down!"

Castiel stopped suddenly, and turned to face Dean. "What did you call me?"

"Um.. Cas? I'm sorry, it just sort of slipped out." Dean grinned sheepishly.

"It's fine. Just something I'm not overly familiar with." Cas leaned against the wall, head lolling back.

"You alright?" asked Dean, his eyes resting on the bloodied lip.

"Fine, I guess. People always surprise me. I think that I have the make of someone, and then something like this happens." Cas rubbed at his lip with the back of his hand and winced.

"What happened?"

"We were just having a chat about what the department needed him to do in order to start up visitation with his kids again. He took exception at something Sharon said, and he hit her hard. By the time I could intervene, and after he gave me the bloody lip, it was like the fight had gone out of hin. He just sagged under the window and thats when you arrived." Cas and Dean pressed tightly to the walls to make room for the paramedics as they passed. Dean had just finished writing all of what Cas had said down, when they passed by again, this time carrying a stretcher bearing the unconscious Sharon. Ollie brought up the rear, walking out a docile Don who was now in handcuffs.

"Look, we'll need you to come into the station to give the official statement later on." said Dean, closing his notebook.

"Not a problem, Dean." Cas sighed heavily.

"You sure you're ok?"

Cas didn't say anything. "It'l be fine."

A small smile crept onto Dean's face. He could recognise himself in Cas' reaction. The "I'm totally fine" face, the stance with his arms crossed over his body, the resigned sigh. He knew exactly what Cas was going to do when he left work today.

"Hey, I have an idea. I'm going to take you home. You are going to change, and shower. Then I'm going to take you back to the station to get the official thing over and done with. Then we are going for a drink. Sound ok?"

Cas meet Dean's gaze. "I suppose."

"Listen, Cas, I've had a lot of shitty days in work. I know that look you have. It's the "I'm going to get absolutely blasted drunk when I get home." Because I do it, go home, get drunk and then talk shit with my friends at a ridiculous hour. I figured.. " Dean swallowed, he was about to make a big assumption. "that because you're so new here, you may not have that safety net just yet."

Cas was silent for a moment, then he smiled. "You're right. This whole thing is rather new to me. It might be nice to have some company for once."

"Sounds like a plan." Dean clapped his hand on Cas' shoulder. "Let's get that lip checked out first though."


	5. Chapter 5

Some time later, Dean found himself pressed against the bar in one of many pubs that lined the streets of the city centre. He had taken it on good authority when he started that he shouldn't drink in his work local. "Don't piss where you eat." Ollie had warned. This pub, Donovan's, was one of Dean's favourites. It was small and quiet, with the almost permanent addition of elderly men holding up the bar, discussing anything from the weather to Ireland's recent economic progress. The windows were lined with green glass that cast unusual shadows over the interior as the sun set. This had the unfortunate effect of highlighting the years of dust that had built up on the pictures and shelves of ornaments, and musical instruments nailed to the wall. Behind the bar there was an elderly woman, named Mrs Gleeson. She was there every night of the week and was full of piss and vinegar. Dean recalled suddenly the look she gave him on his first night walking in here with Ollie. He had heard her mutter "bloody yankee" poured him a drink. Luckily, she had softened somewhat in the past number of months, finally beginning to see him as more than a tourist.

She stood in front of him now, one hand on her hip, the other slowly tapping out a rhythm on the glass washer. She looked at him pointedly, her eyes flicking between Dean and the table where Cas was sitting, who was staring at his phone. Dean cleared his throat.

"Evening, Mrs. Gleeson."

"I suppose it is. What can I get you?"

"Two pints of Cider, please."

Mrs Gleeson made a disapproving noise in her throat and moved off to pour the drinks. Dean surveyed the rest of the bar. The prerequisite two older men arguing about the economy, check. The group of business men at the big table near the window, suit jackets off, ties loose, check. The group of little blue haired women with small glasses of Guinness, cackling and whooping, check. The television, blaring sports results from day old fixtures, check. An undertone of some traditional Irish band could be heard underneath all of the noise, the violins playing a maddeningly fast tune.

"That'll be €9.50." Mrs. Gleeson gingerly left the two drinks in front of Dean.

"Thanks." He handed over some cash, and as Mrs. Gleeson pressed his changed into his hand, she said lowly, "Another Yank?" nodding in Cas' direction. Dean nodded as he picked up the drinks. Mrs Gleeson shook her head, muttering about the state of the world as Dean moved away.

"Here." He placed the drink in front of Cas, who looked up at him, slightly disbelieving. "Yeah, that is the regular size. Takes a bit to get used to, but means less trips to the bar."

Cas took a sip, and wrinkled his nose. "Hard cider?"

Dean took a gulp, and wiped his mouth. "The absolute best. You don't like it?"

"It's not that, just unusual. Not my usual choice." Cas settled back into the chair.

"I'm sorry, I guess I should have asked." Dean grinned sheepishly.

"It's fine. I'll get the next one."

Silence crept over the table for a few moments, but it was comfortable one. Eventually, Dean broke it.

"So, Cas. How are you doing, after today I mean?"

Cas didn't meet Dean's eyes, focusing instead on the glass in front of him, his hand mindlessly coming up to touch his busted lip. "I'm fine. It's nothing that hasn't happened before. Mr. Riordan was upset, and he lashed out. Luckily, I managed to calm him down before he did something irreversible."

Dean shook his head. "I don't know, dude. I'd be pretty pissed if that happened to me. You were only trying to help."

"Perks of the job.I should imagine you have had to deal with something similar in your line of work." Cas asked, pointedly.

"I guess." Dean's insides twisted uncomfortably. Old memories came flooding forward, of a different time, different place. His heavy hands trying to stop the blood flow coming from the wound in his stomach, feeling the warm slowly drain out of him. His head had hit the ground, hard, and he seemed detached from what was happening. The cold laugh pricked at his skin, even now, years later.

"Dean?" Cas asked, leaning forward, concerned, "Are you alright?"

"Fine." he said, swallowing half of his pint in one go.

Cas didn't say anything, but the concern didn't leave his face.

"Thank you for today." he said quietly.

Dean thought it strange that Cas would thank him for that, he was only doing his job, but it had the desired effect of pulling him out of his shitty reverie.

"Don't mention it." Dean held up his drink, and Cas gently clinked his own off it.


	6. Chapter 6

The sounds of garbage collection are a glorious thing. Especially at 6 a.m. on Saturday mornings. Especially when you can hear the garbage guys laugh and hoot about the night before as they throw clattering steel bins together. But the most glorious occurrence of this just so happens to be the morning after a big night out, when every little scrape of metal on concrete is amplified by a thousand times and when your head feels like it may explode. The sensation of being moving and not actually going anywhere is enough to make any man feel nauseous and so when Dean is awoken to this morning cacophony all he can do is screw his eyes shut tight and pray that something tales the noise away.

Dean fumbled in his bed sheets to look for his phone. The momentary panic of loss subsides as his fingers come in contact with the hard plastic. 6.32 a.m. Dean barely remembered getting in last night, sometime around 3 a.m. He and Cas had been drinking for most of the night, and Dean was struggling to remember exact details. He figured it would come back to him throughout the day like it normally did after such a big night of drinking. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand as he tried to slow his spinning mind. "Goddamnit." he whispered. He eyed the bedside table hopefully, thinking that perhaps his drunken ass had brought a glass of water with him to bed. No such luck. Dean's mouth felt it had never experienced moisture, so as loathe as he was to do it, he picked himself up out of his warm cocoon of blankets and slowly made his way to the kitchen.

It took about 30 seconds for Dean to realise that he was bloody freezing. He looked down to discover that he had fallen asleep without his shirt, jeans and belt still on, but no socks. He stuck his hands underneath the running tap and splashed a some water on his face. It made him feel even colder, but slightly more alive. He sought out a clean glass, filled it with water and began to drink. It was then he realised he wasn't alone. Dean almost choked, and spluttered water over his cabinets.

Castiel Novak was sprawled over Dean's small couch. His arms splayed wide, one hooked over the back of the sofa and the other resting on the ground. His legs, partially hidden by what Dean recognised as his leather jacket, were tucked up underneath his body. Cas' face was the picture of contentment, like sleeping like this was the only thing that could make any difference to his happiness. Suddenly, patches of last night's conversation slammed into Dean's memory like a truck.

_The inside of the taxi was overbearingly warm. The driver had barely nodded his assent when Dean gave him his address. The plan had been for the taxi to take Dean home first, then head back to Cas' with him, but Dean realised fairly quickly into the journey, that Cas probably wouldn't be heading home. The minute Cas had sat into the backseat beside Dean, the warm interior hit his drunken frame like sledgehammer, and his head lolled onto Dean's shoulder, having fallen asleep. At least he's not gonna vomit, Dean thought. _

_Ten minutes later, Dean was pulling a still sleeping Cas out of the car, having hurriedly paid the driver. His hand reached around Cas' waist, and pulled him towards him. He settled Cas' arm around his shoulders, holding onto his forearm to balance him. It took a few false starts, and Dean almost fell into the ornamental fountain but eventually they made it inside Dean's apartment. He gently lay Cas on his sofa, and looked around for something to cover him with. Failing to find anything, he settled for his jacket, shrugging it off, and placing it gingerly over Cas, who had not woken. _

Dean shook his head, and then regretted it as his vision blurred slightly. He groaned a little, and began to fill another glass of water. He placed it gently down on the coffee table beside Cas, hoping that he, at least, would remember where he was when he woke up. For such a skinny guy, he sure could hold his liqour. Dean quietly crossed his small living room back to his bedroom, and fell swiftly back into bed. _Hopefully more sleep will get rid of this bitch of a hangover,_ he thought as he sank back into his pillows, not bothering to change into pyjamas. That smacked a little too much of effort for this time of the day.

{}

Turns out sleep can do wonderful things.

Three hours later and Dean was wide awake, but feeling a million times better. And after having a shower, and slipping on clean clothes, he felt like he wasn't out drinking until all hours last night.

He wandered back into the living room. Cas hasn't woken up, nor has he moved since Dean saw him last. He does notice that the glass of water is half empty. A sudden craving for bacon races through Dean's body, and suddenly that's all he can think about. He pulled out a frying pan, and searched his small fridge, because he knows he has bacon in here somewhere.

"Victory!" He said, triumphantly. He sliced open the packaging and as soon as the pan is hot enough, threw a slice on. Soon, the delectable sound of frying pig filled the open kitchen/living room. Dean cooked several slices for himself, and was debating whether to cook some for Cas and wake him up, or just be content with his own breakfast. Turns out he didn't need to.

"Dean?"

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty. Bacon?" Dean looked up, and gestured to the frying pan.

Cas frowned, and then grimaced. "Yeah, go for it."

Dean grinned. "Feeling a little under the weather?"

Cas didn't say anything, just narrowed his eyes at Dean, who laughed easily.

"Easy, tiger. I was gonna offer you coffee but if you're gonna be snarky, I don't know." Dean said, grinning, as he spooned out the bacon onto a plate for his guest.

"Please. Coffee." Cas sat with his head in his hands at the small table in Dean's kitchen.

"A tad hungover then?" asked Dean, sweetly as he poured Cas a mug of the strongest coffee he could muster, and passed it to Cas, who took it like a dying man laps at water.

"Don't talk to me for the next few minutes. I'm trying to not vomit all over your kitchen." mumbled Cas into the mug, inhaling the warmth.

Dean bit back a laugh, and focused on eating his breakfast. They sat in companionable silence for 10 minutes whilst they ate. Well, Dean ate. Cas mostly picked at his bacon, and turned varying shades of green.

After 20 minutes, Dean began to clear the table, putting the dirty plates into the sink. He turned to Cas, who had not moved from the table.

"Hey man, you should shower. I promise you'll feel a million times better afterwards."

Cas started to protest, muttering about not taking up Dean's time, and not having clean clothes, and not wanting to inconvenience Dean.

"Cas. Relax. It's not like you're taking a kidney. It's only a shower. You can borrow a t-shirt if you want." Dean stood in front of Cas, his arms folded.

Cas looked up at Dean. "Only if you're sure."

"Jesus Christ, Cas." Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on." He manhandled Cas up, and gently shoved him towards the bathroom. He paused outside his bedroom, quickly picking a clean t-shirt, and shoving Cas into the bathroom. "You'll feel better. Trust me!" said Dean, through the closed door.

He returned to washing up the dishes in the kitchen. _Last night was a good night. _ Cas was a fun guy to hang out with. Even if he was a little serious and didn't see half the movies Dean quoted. All in all, a good night.


End file.
